"So very polite. I like that." Standing close to her, his hands drifted down her back, coming to rest on her rear end, just below her twitching tail.

It must, Roxanne thought, be her imagination, or perhaps just the effect of the tight cut and shaping effects of the latex she now wore, but she would almost have sworn as he cupped her buttocks that those same buttocks were larger than they had been when she left her house earlier that day.

"Mostly I just ride on my lands,” Sir continued, “but I have a number of friends who are into the same hobbies as I. From time to time, I'm going to want you to take me to a fetish ball nearby, where you will then escort me in."

His hand was still on her ass and it felt so good she could hardly believe it. It was as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t realised she was carrying; all the stresses and worries of a mother, all the chores of a housewife, were forgotten.

Instead there was only the awareness of her own sensuality, and the confident certainty she would be used, over and over again, for what her body could offer Sir. It was exciting.

She had stopped focusing on what he had to say, was not really questioning it anymore. It felt like she didn’t have to think or concentrate too much, and that was a lovely feeling.

-THOUGHT THREAD ENCOURAGED-

“You won’t be asked to pull it alone,” Sir told her. “Bella is already on my pony team. You’ll meet her later. She used to pull my trap alongside Diana, but I received an excellent offer for Diana.” He met Roxanne’s eye with a smile. “Naturally I sold her on, which left me needing someone new. I chose you.”

He spoke as if this were a perfectly normal course of action. Roxanne wasn’t sure if he was acting as if trading in human beings was normal and sensible, or if the problem was that she persisted in thinking of herself as something other than a ponygirl. Perhaps buying and selling ponygirls was normal; after all, he sounded affectionate toward Bella and the now-sold Diana, even affectionate toward her. So it couldn’t be that bad.

She thought Sir must be one of those people who invests personally in the people he keeps close, and she wondered fleetingly about the gardener she’d glimpsed earlier.

“Any questions?” he grinned.

She shook her head. “No, Sir,” she said. It was so obvious that she’d been incredibly lucky when he decided to tame her for his ponygirl rather than anyone else he’d seen in town. She was a very lucky ponygirl.

She bounced excitedly on her hooves, realising how much she was actually looking forward to being useful property and being taken care of. The bounce felt strange, slightly, as if her balance had changed a little. Maybe it was the tail, or maybe it was the tightness of the latex.

She couldn’t think of anything else it was likely to be. He’d only offered her tea and medicine. That wouldn’t change her shape.

“That’s good,” he told her. “You’re a good, obedient, sexy ponygirl. I can already tell.” His other hand trailed a finger up her belly and across to one of her breasts, and his touch felt so good she could hardly believe there was latex in the way. It was like her skin was open to him. “We still have work to do, of course. But I know you’re going to work with me. I know you’ll give yourself this purpose.”

She shuddered at his touch, her eyelids fluttering. She felt sexier for him saying it, but she also felt sexier than she had done in years anyway. Perhaps it was her latex skin; she was so shiny and so pretty. Perhaps it was the way Sir was talking to her, like she mattered. Like she was a good ponygirl.

Like she was valuable property. “Thank you, Sir.”

Sir stood with her a while longer, still fondling and groping her, and her vision swam slightly until he released his grip and took up her lead rein. “Why don’t you lead the way back?” he asked.

Her tail perkily high, she moved into the lead and started trotting back to the house. Taking steps at the trot was automatic now, something that just felt completely right.

Roxanne was not usually aware of the eyes of others on her - honestly that had to be the reason she’d brushed off the times she’d caught Sir looking at her in the supermarket; she just didn’t consider that sort of thing.

And yet now she had someone’s attention on her, trotting along, now she was a ponygirl not a person, she realised it felt really good to be the centre of his attention. Being desired was wonderful, and it filled her with warmth as well as the heat of her own desire in turn.

Reaching the door of his house, she could hear a phone ringing somewhere inside, the ringtone one she recognised as being the one on her own phone.

That’s my phone! I should-

-THOUGHT THREAD DELETED-

That can’t be my phone. Why would I have a phone? Ponygirls really don’t need those things.

The phone stopped ringing before Roxanne remembered, very vaguely, that there might be someone close to her who would wonder where she was. It didn’t seem important.

She stopped at the doorway, suddenly uncertain, and he stepped up level with her, letting go of the lead rein such that its chain dangled from her neck down across her bust, hanging two inches out from her belly from the curve of her chest.

Was her bust big enough to do that? It didn’t seem right to her but her hands were in no position to check in the only way she could.

Sir walked back into the room where she’d awoken, beckoning her to follow him. “At some point,” he said, “I should check your top speed. But that’s not a priority right now.”

He was busy again with the table where he’d laid out all that equipment she hadn’t had time to study. Picking up a plastic syringe, he drew a small measure from a bottle, then set it down for a moment while he opened a small blue cardboard box and plucked out a sugar lump.

Roxanne’s attention sharpened the moment she saw the sugar lump. She wanted it, wanted the satisfaction of crunching it, pictured herself accepting it from his palm.

He used the syringe to pour the dose he’d drawn onto the lump as it rested on his palm, letting whatever chemicals were there soak into the sugar. Her mouth was watering.

“Come here, Roxanne,” he purred. “There’s a good girl.” Smiling, she trotted forward expectantly.

He took hold of her mane in one hand, holding her just tightly enough to be able to direct her head without tugging sharply. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“A treat, Sir?” She licked her lips, feeling strangely reassured by his hand steering her head.

"There's a treat in here, but this is also medicine for good ponies. If you keep taking this when I give it to you, you'll find that your body keeps improving the way your mind has improved since we met this afternoon. Remember how unstable your mind was back then? How you passed out in the car park?"

He was holding her head close to his palm but just too far from the sugar lump for her to be able to lick it up into her mouth. Her hands were clasped behind her, and she could have reached out - but she didn’t even register them.

"Yes... I wasn't well... My head wasn't stable. I passed out and you helped me."

"Of course I did, Roxanne. I take good care of my property, don't I?"

“Yes, Sir,” she said. “You look after your property.”

With that acknowledgement he gently lowered her head until her lips touched the sugarlump, the taste of sweetness and chemicals mingling on her lips. Some tiny fraction of Roxanne was protesting, was objecting to the idea that she was any man’s property; another fraction, a more familiar mental voice, insisted instead that Roxanne belonged to someone else.

Neither of those seemed half so important as the sugarlump.

“Eat up now, Roxanne,” Sir said. “That’s a good girl.”

The sugarlump crunched under her teeth, sweetness filling her mouth. It was so obviously the right thing for her to be eating, but she couldn’t remember sugarlumps being a regular part of her feed.

Perhaps Sir had decided on a new diet for her, since she had new duties to perform.

Whatever he had soaked it in was a strange aftertaste, but Roxanne was still busy licking her lips, hunting down the last of the sweetness.

He lifted her head by her mane, his eyes meeting hers, his smile twinkling.

Roxanne smiled back, feeling so wonderfully contented. And why not? She was a ponygirl. A capable being who could pull buggies, trot great distances, hold her pose as long as required. Who could be bred, and bred well. She was so shiny and strong, and she was proud of that. She was so simple and obedient, and she was proud of that.

Her power was all in her limbs, but Sir’s gentle touching words held power over her in turn.

Sir released her mane, stepping behind her. She felt him take first one arm and then the other in his hands, keeping them behind her, and he adjusted the zips on her jacket, unzipping, reconnecting elsewhere, and zipping back up, so that her arms were bound together from elbow to wrist.

He picked something else up from the table and slipped something over her hands and wrists. Sealed in by another layer of latex, her arms were no longer arms, her hands no longer hands. It was all just part of her.

“Doesn’t this feel better, Roxanne? Being tamed? Domesticated, in from the wild?” From behind, his hand slipped between her thighs, under her buttocks, stroking at the zip along her crotch, fingers applying just enough pressure that she couldn’t help but take notice.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, moaning at his touch, the moan almost a whinny. The loss of her hands hadn’t upset her at all; in fact, she’d already forgotten their loss.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sir purred in her ear, his grip tightening in response to her whinny. He gave her an appreciative grunt.

Idly, he started stroking her hair. Roxanne smiled at her touch, her tail twitching a little.

“You have it easy, you know,” Sir said. “Being owned and not having to choose for yourself. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said honestly. “I’m a very lucky ponygirl.”

“You are! But I’m sure you’ll work hard to improve my life in turn, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl, Roxanne. Come here with me.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and led her forward toward the big wallscreen.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered. The screen seemed to be higher up than it had been when she’d first gazed into it, as if it had been raised while she’d been out of the room.

After all, she couldn’t have got any shorter…

His hand on the back of her neck, just under the chip, he turned her gaze firmly up to the screen, which sprang back into life.

Her eyes immediately settled on the spiral, a deep peace settling across her. The spiral seemed welcoming. Comforting. Soothing.

Standing close in, he reached back to the other table with his free hand, tilting her head to expose the side of her neck. “I think it’s time we made your ownership clear. You agree, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my good ponygirl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The device he’d reached from the table settled into place against the right side of her neck and he thumbed it on. Roxanne felt a ticklish sort of sting, but when staring into the spiral she couldn’t feel pain.

Sir kept her neck still as he painstakingly marked out RX-003 just above the neckline of her latex in block capitals with his tattoo gun. Roxanne’s eyes crossed and uncrossed as she sank into the spiral. She smiled.

“There. I can enter you into my livestock book now.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but she knew that “Thank you, Sir,” would be the right response.

He keyed the spiral off, leaning close into her ear, and said “And that means you’re eligible for me to breed if I wish.”

Her heart leaped. “Yes, Sir.”

Putting the tattoo gun back down, he took her mane in both hands, turning her face toward his, kissing her possessively. Roxanne kissed back, docile and obedient but hungry for the opportunity to show her value in service.

It was the first time they’d kissed, and she knew that. But she seemed somehow to know exactly how he liked his kisses, how much hunger to show, how yielding to be.

Eventually, he broke the kiss and smiled. “You’re doing so well, Roxanne. Just following and obeying works so well for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s very good. I like my ponies to be happy and obedient.”

“I want to be a good pony, Sir.”

She watched as he dosed a second sugarlump, her eyes following it eagerly.

Taking her mane back in hand he lowered her lips to touch it, and Roxanne licked the sugarlump gently. Very sweet, the chemical tang present but not offputting, and it tasted so good… but before she could do more he’d swept it out of reach, his grip on her mane preventing her from following it.

“Not yet, my dear. We have another step for you to take first.” Sir set the sugarlump down.

“Sir?” she asked.

Letting go of her mane, he very carefully picked up a strip of latex, the same burgundy colour as the rest of her costume, but mostly transparent. He held it up against her head, spread out, as if he were measuring it thoughtfully.

After a moment he placed the strip lightly against her face, his fingers pressing it down gently against nose, lips, and chin. “Kiss,” he instructed.

Roxanne kissed obediently, savouring the taste of the latex, and as he peeled it away she could see her lips had left a print on the strip, the ridges of her brow, her chin, and her nose also marking the space. Her lips were tingling slightly from whatever the internal covering had been.

Sir took up a craft knife, and as Roxanne licked her lips, he cut away the mark they had left on the latex, then cut again to open up inch-and-a-half squares around where her eyes had been. He picked it up again. “Roxanne, for this next part I need you to stay still as a statue. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.”

“That’s my good girl. But we want you better than good; we’re going to make you perfect.”

“Yes please, Sir,” she answered eagerly.

He carefully lined up her lips and eyes against the openings, then wrapped the strip around her head and her upper neck, carefully lifting her high mane out to avoid the wrap. The stuff sealed into place around her, completing her.

Roxanne’s whole body was that of a ponygirl; her hands could be released if her owner ever wished, but not by her. Her neck showed her entry in his stockbook. Her head was permanently fixed as a ponygirl, her old identity heavily disguised.

Wait.

That was wrong.

Identities are things people have. She was a ponygirl; she had a name and a stockbook entry, and that was enough, her blonde mane shimmering above her burgundy hide.

Her owner patted her rump gently and smiled. “There,” he said. “Perfect. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed happily. “Perfect… pony.”

He turned back to the table and picked up the dosed sugarlump, holding it up for her to see it. This time, though, he unbuckled his belt. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He balanced the sugarlump on his cock, just back from the tip. “Then you may kneel and take your treat,” he instructed.

Roxanne dropped to her knees immediately. This time there was no way for her to ignore it; her bust had been filling out over the treatment, her ass was bigger, her hips wider, her thighs thicker.

She was a ponygirl. She was a human cob pony, thick, curvy, and beautiful.

She took her treat in her mouth delicately, with her tongue alone, but he settled his hand on her mane, keeping her mouth close while the chemical-laced sugarlump tingled through her.

She bobbed her head forward, taking his cock fully in her mouth, sucking hungrily at the sweetness of the sugar as she slid down his length.

At the back of her neck, her chip pulsed pleasure rewards out in synchronisation with the movements of her head, her thoughts soothed away, her own pleasure centres rewarding her for being a good pony, for adopting the life of a hucob.

She could feel his hand on his mane, controlling her pace. Sir’s hand was always steering her, sometimes by bridle or rein.

It was reassuring, comforting, another reminder she was controlled by another, that decisions were not for her to make. It was such a freeing feeling, this taming. Life before she was added to his stockbook and brought to his estate was a blur, and then it was gone entirely, those memories no longer accessible, the thought threads that could trigger them deleted.

His own excitement filled her mouth soon, her tastebuds considering it just another delicious treat. Something in the chemical cocktail mingled with his taste and his pheromones, binding her arousal more deeply to him.

“Good girl,” Sir told her. “How about some exercise before the evening feed?”

Roxanne nodded happily.

“Rise, then, and follow.” He took her lead rein again, walking through the house. Roxanne followed at a happy trot.

He led her through a number of corridors into a large stable-space, built onto one side of the house and heated like part of it. A one-person pony trap rested there, one with spaces for a two-ponygirl team.

Also in the room were three sizable wooden cubicles, their doors not locked, the walls only half as high as the room. A dark-haired ponygirl in faceless, dappled white latex was standing in one of them. Her body language perked up when she saw Roxanne, who stared back at her.

She looks so happy.

Sir led her to the front of the trap, attaching a harness to the front and fitting Roxanne into it. “Is that comfortable?”

Roxanne nodded and snorted.

“Very good.” He stroked her mane for a ment, then walked over and led the other ponygirl out to harness next to Roxanne. The other hucob looked across, whinnying cheerfully, and Roxanne whinnied back in greeting.

She leaned her head in, touching foreheads with Roxanne. Their eyes met, and Roxanne could only see vacant, docile happiness in the other pony’s eyes. She blinked in surprise, having no idea that her own expression was similar.

Her mind didn’t work as it had when she woke up that morning now. It was simpler. Less cluttered. Happier.

In height the two hucobs were almost identical, Roxanne perhaps a little taller, but the white pony’s rear end and chest were bigger, showing she’d been maintained on the proper ponygirl diet. Roxanne was sure she could catch up, and then they would be almost identical outside their colouration and their stockbook tattoos.

“There you are,” Sir said to the alabaster mare. “I told you you’d be part of a team again.” He kissed her, and Roxanne watched her kiss back.

Sir turned to Roxanne. “A chance at your new beginning, right?”

She nodded, stamping the ground eagerly. It didn’t occur to her to talk.

Sir kissed her, then opened the big double-doors to the outside and headed back for the trap itself.

Before too long they heard the snap of his crop and the two of them went trotting out happily onto the estate.

Their steps synchronised as if there was a system in both their heads regulating their pace, and before long the trap was rolling smoothly along one of the paved routes around the back of the estate.

They trotted past the gardener, seeing her wearing only a pair of dungarees, her tits out and suntanned, her bound-up hair showing off the chip in the back of her neck.

Her sense of purpose resonated with the purpose of the two hucobs, and as, from time to time, Sir tapped one or other of them with the crop to encourage them, they felt their arousal growing. There was no bridle, but the two turned in unison in any case, their chips responding to a control app on his throne.

On their tour of the estate they passed by a car that seemed somehow familiar to Roxanne, which had been moved deeper into the estate woods where, in time, it would be overgrown and hidden. A woman in a maid’s uniform was walking from that point to the big house, but not at nearly the same pace as the hucobs.

After a pleasant twenty minutes, her thighs aching happily in a way that told Roxanne her previous owner couldn’t have been exercising her properly, they returned to the stables.

“I’ve missed that,” Sir said as he dismounted, all smiles. “Good girls.”

Both of them stamped enthusiastic appreciation.

One by one, he unhooked them from the trap, patting their flanks, and led them into their boxes, which each had feeding places and low beds they could easily kneel down into.

He clipped their lead reins to the door, pausing to run his hands all over them, groping them more than assessing, and watched them shudder with pleasure at the touch.

Sir closed the double doors and made his way back into the house with a new spring in his step. He turned out the light as he went, and the hucobs’ chips told them to sleep. They knelt into their beds and knew no more.

*

Three months later, long after the searchers had given up, there were still a few posters in the local area bearing a photo of Roxanne’s face.

The car had disappeared; she had not answered her phone; but she had shopped in the local supermarket, buying a lot of provisions, and her car had been caught on CCTV pulling out of the car park, before she and it had vanished. This much was known to everyone, but the explanation was still hotly debated.

Those who knew the family were close to evenly divided as to whether Roxanne had vanished of her own accord or whether something had happened to her. After the long days of the first searches, it was hard to find volunteers to keep going.

One warm autumn evening, the trap swept out of the estate and along the road. Sir’s favourite fetish club was four miles away, which was a little under an hour for the ponygirl team. He was more than prepared to spend the hour travelling to arrive in such style.

A half-mile out of the estate, having sailed past two of the posters without Roxanne giving them more than a curious look, they passed a car going the other way, inside which Roxanne’s husband, exhausted, frustrated, and mentally lost, took in the sight of the two hucob ponygirls and their driver and thought only That bastard has two women and I don’t even get the one I wanted.

Roxanne had registered his face as part of watching the road ahead, but it stirred no response. Her mind was entirely on the club night ahead and on making sure Sir was happy.